Cheap Whiskey And Glasgow Smiles
by Crystilia Aerosine
Summary: How the Joker got his scars and became who he is. Rated for implied violence. One-shot.


**Mixed version of the movie and comics Joker origin with a splash of originality. Check out The Killing Joke to understand better.**

**Notes: **

**Glasgow Smile - Aka Chelsea Grin - The name for the kind of scarring the Joker has. It originated in Glasgow, Scotland.**

**For Those Who have Not Read The Comics - Jeannie is _not_ an OC. Nor is "Jack Napier" the name or his profession. But his place of employment was designated by me.  
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Cheap Whiskey and Glasgow Smiles**

So many people wanna know how I got these scars. Well I'll tell'em every story imaginable, except the truth. Cause the truth ain't as pretty as those fabricated yarns I'm so good at spinnin'. No, no, no. Not. At. _All_. The truth is a bit more bland. _Too_ bland for me. I want some lights and sparkle and mystery surrounding my oh-so-famous trademarks! Not a typical fuck-up.

Well, ya see, I was just a guy once. A normal little _sheep_ going about my everyday life. My name was Napier, Jack Napier. I was an chemical engineer ya see. Smart, top of my class and all that jazz. I worked for this nice, lucrative company. Ya might've heard of it. Wayne Enterprises? Ya nice joint, I'll tell ya, but a little too _stiff_ for my current tastes. Well I was just an average working joe. I paid my taxes and put my suit on one leg at a time.

Well now things were going good. _Real good_. I had a wife. Beautiful. Her name was Jeannie. Sweet as apple pie and the kindest little girl you ever did see. So she was my wife. We were in love. We'd been married only about two years, still in that "couple" phase. And she got pregnant. And we were so _excited_. We did up the nursery real cute. Yellow, cause we wanted a surprise.

Well one day this guy, an Italian, shows up, right? He tells me he can make me a very wealthy man if I'd just turn the other cheek when chemicals started going missing from my lab. But if I said something to the police, he'd make my life hell. With a baby on the way, I wasn't in any position to say no. So I said ok.

Things were fine for a few months. No suspicion and Jeannie was starting to show. I was the happiest I'd ever been. The mob was sending us checks every month that made those doctor visits and check ups a _whole_ lot more affordable. The nursery was upgraded and made even better with the money. I wanted my kid to have it _good_.

Then suddenly it all goes wrong. They suddenly realize the chemicals going missing are extremely potent _drugs_ and the next thing I know... I'm flat on my ass without a job. But I don't panic, ya see. I'm too smart for that. I just figure the mob will keep sending the money for my silence. Well… No such luck. They cut us off immediately, but made sure to let us know the threat was still in place.

So we're royally _screwed_ right? My record says I'm stealing drugs, lucky not to be in prison, and we have the mob watching us. But Jeannie stays calm. She knows we'll make it through alright. But me, I can't stop worrying. I'm so _guilty_. We have enough money to last us until the baby is about one, if we take it slow.

I start drinking, right? Just like my dear old dad. And I can't stop. Jeannie begs and begs but I just have to keep going to the bar. And one day… One day I see this guy win ten grand in a high stakes poker game. I see this and I think to myself, "Jack you could win that! It's all about statistics! You're smarter than all of them, go show them what you're made of." And so I join in. A couple rounds and I'm up 1k. I'm looking forward to the big pay off. But the other guys at the table aren't so happy. Not. One. Bit. So they ask my name. And I tell them. Simple question, right? _Wrong_! Turns out "they know a guy" in the mob. So he hears my name and the proverbial light bulb clicks on.

A couple nights later, I come stumbling down the street from the bar. I'm so _drunk_. And then I realize that my house is on fire. Bad night. I start looking for Jeannie. Well, wouldn't ya know she was asleep when that Molotov Cocktail came crashing through the nursery window? By now she's used to me coming in late and making noise, so she doesn't get up. But by the time she realizes the house is on _fire_, she's already dead from the smoke. And so that's how my wife and kid died. But that's not the story I was telling.

No I was explaining the scars. So I'm crushed. I just lost it all in one night. So I head back to the bar. Smart wouldn't ya say? And I start drinking even heavier. Maybe I woulda stuck around at the scene if I wasn't already so drunk. But now I'm drinking even more. The guys around me are getting pissed off as I kept grabbing their glasses and tipping'em back. A couple more times and I'm suddenly in the alley way getting the shit kicked out of me. Well dumbfuck me has to go and hit back. They probably woulda just beat me up and left me if I'd have just passed out like a good victim. No. I have to fight back. Dad always did talk about _honor_ and _being a man_ after all. So I punch a guy. Everything stops. The click from the switchblade is deafening in the alley. And it all goes _black_.

I wake up in the hospital. All bandaged up and broken. I try to wet my lips only to have it sting as my tongue met stitches. So angry and upset, I rip the stitches out, opening the wound in the process. And so I got my scars. I wouldn't let them stitch them up again, so they ended up nice and grotesque. Too bad Jeannie can't see me now. She'd be so _proud_, wouldn't ya say?


End file.
